


We’ll Get There in the End (A Journey in Five Parts)

by Morgane (smilla840)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Apocalypse, Incest, M/M, Mind the warnings inside, Multi, Polyamory, Post Season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-03
Updated: 2012-11-03
Packaged: 2017-11-17 16:52:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilla840/pseuds/Morgane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mending a relationship is hard, especially you’re fighting a war at the same time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We’ll Get There in the End (A Journey in Five Parts)

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: off-screen torture, passing mention to underage sex, death of a minor character death. 
> 
> Written for janie_tangerine in the _Renegade Angels_ fic exchange. The two prompts I used were _1) Dean/Castiel/Sam threesome. Possibly set after the S4 finale but really, anything goes as long as they're threesome, and 2) Hurt/comfort with preferably Castiel being the one Dean has to take care of (but I'm okay also the other way around), bonus points if involving one of them getting drunk_. Originally posted at my livejournal.

ONE

Dean’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel, his foot pressing down hard on the accelerator even though the column of light that tore the sky in two has been out of sight for over 15 minutes ago.

Sam steals a glance in his brother’s direction, sees the way he keeps one eye on the rear view mirror and the other on the road, jaw clenched tight, and guiltily looks down at his hands again.

It’s all his fault.

Dean hasn’t said a word beyond cursing Sam’s – Ruby’s – shitty car since he dragged him out of the convent and the silence stretches between them, heavy and tense. 

Sam closes his eyes and rests his temple against the window, hoping the coolness of the glass will help with the nausea.

God, how could he have been so blind?

He loses himself in the guilt and the recriminations, Dean’s presence next to him both judgment and absolution, and Sam hates that Dean will forgive him anything. And is pathetically grateful for it too, although he doesn’t deserve it. Not that Dean isn’t mad – oh, Dean looks pissed as hell – but he hasn’t dumped Sam on the side of the road and gone his own way and that’s– well, that’s something.

Why didn’t he listen to his brother?

Deep down, he knows why. Dean’s right, he’s just like Dad: Lilith killed Dean and so she had to die. As simple as that. The demon blood was only a means to an end and he would have done a lot worse if it meant getting revenge. 

Dean’s return didn’t stop his obsession. In fact it made it worse because it meant he could lose him all over again and that wasn’t an option. And in the end he almost killed him himself.

Jesus.

Sam rouses himself when the car stops, opening bleary eyes and expecting to see Bobby’s familiar junkyard but instead they’re parked in front of a vaguely familiar house.

“Where are we?” he asks, his voice scratchy and raw.

Dean glances at him before stepping out of the car, slamming the door shut with more force than necessary.

“Chuck’s,” he says tersely and takes the stairs three at a time, leaving Sam to scramble out of the car after him.

“Dean!” he hisses, cursing when Dean doesn’t slow down and goes in without him, gun drawn.

Shit.

Sam runs after him and he is inside the house in no time, coming to a full stop in the middle of the living room.

He stares.

“What the hell?” he says, because it looks like a bomb went off in the middle of Chuck’s house. The furniture’s overturned, books thrown hazardly all over the place, and there is blood everywhere, on the walls in half-finished symbols and a lot more on the floor.

Sam looks around for Dean, his fingers tight around his own gun. He finds his brother in the kitchen and Dean– well Dean looks scared and that’s enough to freak Sam out.

“Dean, what –” he starts but a noise to their right stops him in mid-sentence.

They pivot towards the source of the sound as one to see Chuck stumble into the room, ignoring the two guns pointed at him and zeroing in on Dean like he is his personal saviour.

“Dean, thank God you’re here! Did you do it? Did you stop Sam?”

Sam looks at the ground and shuffles his feet awkwardly. With the adrenaline wearing off the guilt hits him full on again and it almost feels like he’s drowning.

“Oh, hey Sam, nice to see you – it _is_ you, right? You’re not really Lucifer riding Sam’s meat suit, are you? I mean, if you were Dean probably wouldn’t be standing there like it’s no big deal so –”

“He’s Sam,” Dean interrupts and Chuck looks very relieved.

“So you did stop him, that’s –”

“No.”

Chuck freezes, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly, and Sam swallows hard. He feels like he is going to throw up.

“I freed Lucifer,” he says past the knot in his throat.

“Where is Cas?” Dean asks, interrupting Sam’s mental breakdown and giving him something other than the end of the world to focus on. What about Castiel?

“Uh… I think– I think he might be dead?” Chuck says, phrasing it as a question, and Dean immediately shakes his head, denial written all over his face.

“No. He is a freaking angel, he can’t just _die_!”

“Well, he –” Chucks tries to explain but Dean’s got that stubborn look on his face Sam knows so well and he knows his brother isn’t listening. 

“Cas!” Dean yells at the ceiling, and nothing happens.

Dean’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Cas!” he yells, louder this time and Sam winces. “You get your ass down here right the fucking now!”

When that doesn’t get any results Dean storms out of the house and starts shouting Castiel’s name at the skies instead, as if walls somehow interfered with Heaven’s signal.

Sam looks at Chuck, feeling all kinds of lost. What the fuck happened here?

“Dude, what’s going on?” he asks and Chuck gives a strangled laugh that sounds like it hurts.

“The Apocalypse happened, what do you think?”

“No, I mean with Castiel.” And Dean, obviously, because last time he checked Dean didn’t even _like_ the angel. Then again, Sam remembers with another flash of guilt, he did spend most of his time high on demon blood and that didn’t make him the most discerning person.

“I have no idea. The two of them just showed up and that wasn’t supposed to be part of the story,” Chuck babbles, waiving his hands around excitedly, and Sam wonders if he is drunk. “You were supposed to kill Lilith and free Lucifer and become his vessel while Dean was in angelic lock-up. But Castiel and Dean showed up in my kitchen, right? And that wasn’t supposed to happen! And then the _Archangel_ showed up too and Castiel sent Dean to you, saying he would hold them back and then –” Chuck shrugs and gestures at the room. “– _this_ happened and Castiel just –”

“Sam!” Dean barks, barging back into the room and making the two of them jump. “We need get to Bobby’s, he’s got a ritual we can use to summon Cas. Come on!”

With that, he is gone again and Sam looks at Chuck.

“Do you want to come with us?” he offers but the man shakes his head.

“Nah, I’m good. I think I’m going to invite some ‘friends’ over since the world is still ending and all.” He glances around the room, running a nervous hand into his hair. “Right, probably need to clean up first.”

“Okay, well, call if you need anything – or if you write something that might help.”

“Sure, sure,” Chuck says absently, mumbling something about wet hookers, and Sam really doesn’t want to know.

Dean honks and Sam hurries outside.

 

TWO

Sam closes yet another of Bobby’s books with a resounding thump and a frustrated sigh. There is nothing in there, nothing about killing Lucifer or building seals. He rubs his temples, exhaustion making his head ache and his vision blur, and resolutely picks up another book.

He did this. And now he’s going to find a way to fix it.

He has to.

He was a mess when they first got to Bobby’s, wallowing in guilt and craving for demon blood. Things were ugly for a while and when he finally was cognisant again Bobby sat him down and pointed at the piles of books taking up every inch of the room. Said that he had to deal with the other idiot now and that it would keep his mind off ‘things’.

It does help. Oh, the lust for blood is still there, buried under layer upon layer of denial. But he’s got a purpose now and hope that he can redeem himself, and it’s what keeps him going.

He glances at Dean to see how he’s progressing – then again, the lack of triumphant shouting should tell him all he needs to know – and finds that his brother’s attention has been diverted from their research.

Again.

He feels an irrepressible surge of annoyance at the sight – doesn’t Dean know what they’re doing is important?! And why does he care so much about _him_ anyway? – and immediately hangs his head down in shame.

Fuck, what’s wrong with him?

“Is he any better?” he asks tentatively and Dean shrugs, looking back at Sam briefly before focusing on Castiel again.

“No idea. I don’t know shit about angelic first aid and they didn’t exactly leave a manual when they dropped him here. He still hasn’t woken up though.”

They got the angel back two days ago and Castiel’s spent both days lying inanimate on Bobby’s couch. Sam isn’t sure what actually happened – either Dean’s near-constant yelling at the sky finally annoyed Heaven enough that they send Cas back or he came up with a summoning ritual that actually worked. Or he somehow blackmailed Zachariah into doing what he wanted and yeah, that would be just like Dean.

Be that as it may, Castiel is back – more or less – and Dean is… distracted. 

It feels wrong, that Dean should care so much about the well-being of someone who isn’t Sam. And as much as Sam would like to pretend that’s the demon blood talking, he knows it’s not.

He is jealous.

He’s always been possessive of Dean’s time and attention – hell, when he was a kid he used to throw the worst tantrums when Dean sided with Dad over him. He doesn’t like it, doesn’t like what it says about him, but he still hasn’t found a way around it. Maybe because there is a part of him – the part he doesn’t like to admit exist – that does like having Dean all to himself and wouldn’t have it any other way.

It’s not fair, he knows. He had Jess. He even had Ruby, no matter how sick that makes him feel now. Dean never had anyone but him, not really, Sam always the most important person in his life. That shouldn’t make him so god damned pleased but it does. For the longest time he tried to tell himself it was just human nature – who wouldn’t want to have someone around who would love you always and never leave? In Sam’s case that person happens to be his idiotic self-sacrificing brother and sure that’s a little screwed-up and a lot selfish but it’s _real_.

Of course, throwing occasional sex in the midst just made everything even more complicated – even if _that_ hasn’t happened since Dean came back from Hell.

Now the gap between them has never been wider and it’s Sam’s fault. All the fights, all the hurtful things he’s thrown in Dean’s face, all the blows he’s rained on him are keeping them apart and he doesn’t know how to fix it – fix _them_ – when Dean pretends nothing is wrong.

And now there is Castiel.

God, what a mess.

Sam forces his eyes away from Dean and looks down at the book in front of him. The letters dance on the page, merging together, and he stands up, feeling his back and knees protest their enforced immobilisation.

“Coffee,” he answers Dean’s questioning eyes and heads for the kitchen.

“Bring me back that bottle Bobby keeps on the top shelf, will you?” Dean calls after him and Sam grunts.

Getting drunk is the last thing Dean needs right now but he dutifully carries the bottle back along with his cup of coffee anyway, not wanting to get into a fight now.

“Thanks,” Dean says, taking a gulp of alcohol. He winces at the taste, glaring at the bottle. “Urgh, brandy. I hate brandy.”

It doesn’t stop him from nursing that bottle throughout the night and by the time Sam decides to call it quit, the coffee no longer able to prevent his eyelids from drooping, Dean is well on his way to being smashed.

“Come on,” Sam yawns. “We should get some sleep.”

Dean nods absently, his eyes still drawn towards Castiel and Sam’s narrow in response, a familiar surge of irritation hitting him again. He grabs his brother’s arm and drags him none-too-gently up the stairs and to his bed, dropping him unceremoniously on top of it. Dean doesn’t actually put up much of a fight and that makes Sam feel a little better.

“It’s my fault,” Dean slurs at the ceiling and Sam frowns.

“What is?” he asks because seriously? He knows Dean tends to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders but how is their current situation anything but Sam’s doing?

“Cas. My fault. Wasn’t supposed to help, Chuck said, but he did because I asked and now he is all fucked up.” He looks at Sam with all the earnestness a drunk can manage and Sam is so flabbergasted it takes him a while to find words.

“It’s not your fault. It was his choice,” he tells Dean with a voice that’s a little thick and Dean looks at him like he is a moron and rolls away to stare at the wall instead.

 

The next day Castiel wakes up and Sam is glad.

 

THREE

Today was a good day, Sam thinks as he hands a little girl over to her crying mother. Most of the town lies in ruins and the survivors wander around aimlessly, looking shell-shocked, but at least they’re alive – they got to them in time.

It’s not always the case.

Everywhere people are dying, Lucifer and his army killing hundreds. There is no pattern that they can discern, nothing that can help predict where they’ll strike next, and Bobby is still searching the lore for a weapon that could bring him down. All he and Dean can do in the meantime is hunt down as many demons as possible and try to even the odds a little. It’s an impossible feat – too many demons and not nearly enough hunters – and Sam sometimes chafes at the fact that they’re not going straight for Lucifer.

He knows that’s a dangerous road. It’s Lilith all over again, obsession and guilt churning in his gut like before and the almost overpowering need to do _something_ , the day-to-day hunts not nearly enough to quench it.

But he’s got Dean with him this time around and he won’t do anything to jeopardize that –he’s too afraid of losing him again. He never wants to go back to how things were when he was high on demon blood – sometimes he remembers his hands around Dean’s neck, squeezing, and the look on Dean’s face, and it makes him sick. 

He is jolted out of his depressing thoughts when Dean exchanges a few words with Castiel and begins rounding up the survivors. Sam starts forward to help. It’s time for the lesson – how to fight demons 101. They always teach the people they save the basics before they leave, mostly salt lines and holy water and devil traps so that they can defend themselves next time.

Some listen, some don’t – the latter usually don’t last long.

When they’re done Dean breaks away to talk to Castiel again and Sam feels the now familiar pang of – what? Regret? Envy? He isn’t sure – when Castiel says something that takes some of the exhaustion off Dean’s face.

It took a while, getting used to Castiel being around all the time. Dean’s friendship – or whatever you want to call their relationship – with Cas is a strange one and Sam doesn’t really know how it happened. At some point during the past year when Sam was too busy to notice, Dean stopped scorning the angel and started talking to him. Now he goes to him when he has doubts and Castiel listens like every word falling from Dean’s lips is Gospel.

And it hurts.

But he doesn’t push. His own relationship with Dean is just getting good again, really good, and it’s not like Dean ever made it a habit to pour his heart out to him in the first place – no, that wouldn’t be Dean. He should be glad Dean has someone he can talk to.

He is.

Most of the time.

Cas vanishes out of thin air and Dean ambles his way back to Sam, bumping into his shoulder when he reaches his side. It makes Sam smile, the knot in his chest loosening and unravelling completely when Dean stays put, their sides brushing together.

“Where did Cas go?” he asks and Dean shrugs.

“Went to check on everyone.”

Dean pushes himself away, breaking the contact between them, and Sam feels the loss keenly – too keenly.

Adolescent fumblings aside, sex between them has always been few and far between, a means to comfort and reassure themselves the other was still there. Still alive.

It first started a few months after Jess’s death, Dean slipping into his bed after yet another nightmare and wrapping his hand around Sam’s cock. Dean hadn’t touched him in over four years back then, not since Sam had decided that normal and experimenting with his brother were mutually exclusive, yet Sam was hard and pressing back into his hand before he even knew what was happening, needy sounds and his brother’s name falling from his lips over and over again. He came within minutes and slept peacefully for the first time in weeks.

They didn’t discuss it, not that first time or the second or the third. It didn’t happen often and they both kept seeking out other partners – well, Dean did mostly –, but every once in a while a hunt would hit them hard and drive them back into each other’s arms, looking for the oblivion and understanding outsiders couldn’t provide.

It got out of control as the time before Dean’s deal came due grew shorter. Every time he looked at his brother Sam was reminded of the aching emptiness he had felt during those months alone after Dean had ‘died’ under the trickster’s spell and the only thing that could fill the hole in his chest was Dean’s arms around him. Dean was just as frantic once the lights were off and their couplings grew more urgent, until barely a day passed without Sam pushing Dean down and fucking into him desperately, mouthing prayers and curses and obscenities on Dean’s skin.

When Dean came back from Hell, Sam wanted nothing more than to press him on the nearest flat surface and reassure them both that everything would be fine and that Dean was never leaving him again. But Dean was so brittle back then, walls up and insisting he was _fine_ , that it felt like touching him would make him break into a thousand pieces. All the secrets Sam was already keeping from him didn’t help and so it didn’t happen and hasn’t since.

And Sam misses it.

“Come on, it’s getting dark. We need to find a place to stay,” Dean says and Sam starts moving.

These days ‘places to stay’ are more often churches than motels, the two of them sleeping on the ground while Castiel keeps watch. So Sam looks around for a bell tower, pointing it out for Dean when he finds it, and they make their way towards it.

When they get closer Sam sees that the roof collapsed during the attack and he resigns himself to another cold night. It’s still holy ground though and so it will have to do.

They eat in companiable silence, Dean bitching about the lack of beer, and by the time they roll out their blankets Castiel still isn’t back. Dean doesn’t look too worried though and Sam takes his cue from him.

He stares at the stars, feeling restless and jumpy, unable to shake off the low-grade arousal that’s been coursing through him since earlier. God, he wants… He wants to forget for a while, believe that everything is going to be okay, that they’re going to beat this, and he wants Dean.

Sometimes he wonders if he is in love with his brother and maybe he is. Maybe he isn’t. He isn’t sure he can tell the difference, not anymore. Or if there even is one. Or if it matters – they’re too intertwined to ever let the other go anyway.

He rolls over to his side, tentatively bringing them flush together. Dean tenses and for a split second Sam’s hand hesitates, hovering above Dean’s waist before settling there, making his intent unmistakable. He rests his forehead against the soft hair at the back of Dean’s head and waits with baited breath, trying to brace himself for rejection or scorn or – worst of all – Dean trying to be kind.

But then Dean relaxes against him, twisting his head around to bring their mouths together, and Sam is so relieved he laughs out loud. The angle is awkward and frustrating but it’s still the best thing that’s happened to Sam in a long time. It gets even better when Dean makes a frustrated sound and wiggles around to lie flat on his back, his hands automatically taking hold of Sam’s jacket to yank him on top of him.

Sam loses himself in the kiss, the sheer familiarity of Dean making him feel at peace for the first time in months – and very turned-on.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispers against Dean’s lips, emotion chocking him.

“I never left,” Dean answers and Sam has to swallow past the lump in his throat. He wants to ask about Castiel, wants to know if Dean’s in love with him – sometimes it’s all he can think about when he watches them together – but now is not the time. Not when he’s finally got Dean in his arms again, grinding against him, and he reaches down to cup Dean through his jeans, grinning when Dean swears and bucks against him.

He makes quick work of unbuttoning their jeans and his hand meets Dean’s as they wrap around both their cocks, stroking feverishly and straining for release.

He is vaguely aware in a corner of his mind that Castiel is back, watching them. He doesn’t stop though, doesn’t look up to see whether the expression on his face is curious or blank or disgusted. He does wonder if he knew already, if Dean confessed to him or if he’s been watching for so long that he just always knew. 

And he wonders, when Dean shudders against him and spills all over their hands, a broken “Sammy” on his lips, if Dean knows Cas is watching.

Then he is coming and he stops thinking at all.

 

FOUR

They’re running themselves ragged.

There is just too much to do, too many people to save and they don’t get downtime – can’t afford to, Dean insists adamantly, not when so many lives are at stake. But the war has been going on for months now, months of near constant fighting and too little sleep and not enough food and there’s still no end in sight.

Tempers are starting to fray and they’re making mistakes they can’t afford, mistakes that would have gotten them killed a long time ago if Castiel wasn’t with them. And even Cas – for all his insistence that he doesn’t need rest and that they should sleep when they can – looks exhausted, his hair wilder than ever and the shadows under his eyes bruises.

Ironically it happens on a Thursday.

Demons are surrounding a town where a couple of hunters have entrenched themselves and making a stand, and of course they’re going to try and help.

Sam is a bit hazy on the details but when it all goes to hell they haven’t even reached the town – trap, his minds screams at him – and Dean is in the thick of it. Sam fights and fights but there are too many of them and he can barely hold his own ground, let alone help Dean. He fervently prays that Castiel is with him and shoves the knife into the nearest demon, buying himself some room to breathe.

He blinks and Dean appears into thin air next to him, looking a little wobbly and worse for wear. Sam barely has time to catch him before he goes down hard, blood flowing freely from a cut on his forehead, and he looks around anxiously for Castiel, expecting him to materialise next to them, but there is nothing.

They’re pretty much fucked.

But instead of charging back at them the demons retreat and Sam can’t even feel relieved because he knows what that means.

He’s got Dean.

Castiel isn’t coming back.

Dean is going to be pissed.

It takes them eight frantic days to track those demons down and the sight of Castiel spread over the rack is just _wrong_ Sam is a little taken aback by how angry it makes him feel – probably shouldn’t be though. He let go of his petty jealousy once he felt secure enough in his relationship with Dean, accepting the fact that Dean wasn’t going anywhere – the sex helped, in a way –, and realized that Cas was actually pretty cool. Intense and scary too, and head over heels in love with Dean but Sam was okay with that.

They have surprise on their side this time and unleash their anger on the unsuspecting demons, storming the room all weapons blazing. They make short work of the foot soldiers until only their leader is left, facing off Dean with a manic grin on his face.

“I’ve got to thank you, Dean,” he says, sending a shiver of worry through Sam even as he starts cutting through the ropes tying Cas down. Demon talk is always bad news, just enough truth in it to hit where it hurts, and whatever it is this one thinks he has to thank Dean for? Sam is pretty sure Dean doesn’t want to hear it.

Dean seems to agree with him, lunging forward with the knife, but the demon dances out of reach.

“Angels usually just lie there, praying to their Father, but this one?” he continues with a glint in his eyes, evading Dean’s blows. “This one was a lot more fun. He stinks of humanity, deliciously so – your doing, no doubt. Kept calling your name, over and over again.”

Dean strikes again and this time he doesn’t miss, a vicious smile on his face as he twists the blade with more force than strictly necessary – good, Sam thinks just as fiercely. He is turning away and striding towards Sam and Cas before the now dead body has even hit the ground, grasping Cas when the last rope gives way and the angel collapses.

“Come on, we need to get him out of here,” Sam says, urgency colouring his tone, and together they half-carry, half-drag Castiel out of the room.

The night air seems to revive Castiel a bit. He straightens, pulling away from them, and –

“I’m sorry.”

– is gone.

Dean curses up a storm and manfully lasts 2 hours before calling out Castiel’s name. They’ve set up fort in yet another church by then and Sam is relieved when Cas shows up immediately, looking whole and more like himself than the bloodied, wild-eyed mess that’s now imprinted in Sam’s brain.

Dean is on his feet and closing the distance between them within seconds, pulling Castiel in a rough hug.

“Dude, you’ve got to stop almost dying for me,” he says and Cas looks at Sam helplessly over Dean’s shoulder, either worrying about his reaction or asking for help getting out of Dean’s hold, but Sam only offers a sympathetic smile – he is on his own for this one.

Eventually Castiel’s arms come up tentatively around Dean, his hands splayed on Dean’s shoulders as they pat his back awkwardly before just resting there.

“They killed Jimmy,” Cas says in the quiet. “I had to tell his wife and daughter.”

“Shit. Are you okay?” Dean asks, pulling back to peer at his face.

“I am well.”

Dean snorts in disbelief and Sam shakes his head.

Castiel is not fine. Then again, neither is Dean, nor Sam.

That’s it, he is putting his foot down.

They’re taking a break.

 

FIVE

The cabin is lost in the middle of the woods and a blanket of snow is covering everything.

Sam can’t sleep.

Despite the exhaustion that’s been dodging his every step for a while, he finds himself tossing and turning, unable to quiet down. The bed is too soft and everything is too silent. More importantly Dean isn’t here. He’s grown used to falling asleep huddled against his brother, sharing warmth and comfort, Dean’s soft breathing lulling him to sleep under Castiel’s watchful eyes. Now he’s got neither and so he gets up to investigate.

He hisses when his bare feet hit the cold floor, grumbling about hunters who are too cheap to install a heating system. He pads softly towards the main room, the air getting warmer as he gets closer to the fire they lit earlier.

Dean is standing in front of the window, looking outside with a soft expression on his face. He turns when he hears Sam and smiles wanly, looking as tired as Sam feels.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks and Sam shrugs. “Yeah, me neither.”

Dean leans back against him a little when Sam joins him, his body heat seeping through him and making him shiver. Sam yawns, wrapping his arms around Dean’s chest, and finally allows himself to relax. He looks outside to see what has Dean so engrossed and smiles.

It’s started snowing again, small flakes that swirl around before they reach the ground. Castiel is standing among them, head tilted back towards the sky with a look of wonder on his face, watching them dance around him. Sam may be wrong but it looks like he is glowing.

“How long has he been out there?” he asks and Dean doesn’t answer which means it’s been too long but Dean didn’t have the heart to tell him to come back inside.

Sam detaches himself from his brother to collect the bedcovers from the bedroom and makes a nest in the middle of the living room – he is never going to be able to sleep on that bed, better stick to the floor. A waft of cold air makes him look up and he watches Dean push Cas back into the room, pulling his soaked-through coat off and brushing snow out of his hair. Castiel allows it with a fond and mildly puzzled expression and Sam grins.

“Dude, it’s lucky you don’t get colds,” Dean scolds and drags Castiel towards the pile of blankets, undressing him as he goes until Castiel bats his hands away, blushing. “Time to get some sleep.”

Sam yawns on cue and Cas balks. “I don’t require rest. You both sleep, I’ll keep watch.”

“Just… humour me?” Dean asks, pulling Castiel down with him as he lies down next to Sam.

And Castiel, who’s never been able to say no to Dean, does as instructed.

“’night,” Dean says, dropping a quick kiss on Sam’s mouth before giving Castiel the same treatment and if he weren’t so tired Sam would laugh at how shocked that makes Cas look.

Dean misses it though, already snoring, and Sam closes his eyes – but not before he’s seen Cas touches his own lips with a shaky finger, a look of wonder on his face.

 

Sam wakes up first, feeling more refreshed than he has in a long time. He stretches and nuzzles against Dean’s shoulder, his morning – afternoon? – wood pressing against Dean’s ass. Dean stirs and arches against him, moaning softly.

“’Time is it?” he slurs and Sam shushes him.

“You’ll wake Cas,” he says with a grin and Dean’s eyes fly open.

Castiel is indeed sleeping, half-curled up against Dean’s side and lost to the world, one arm thrown over both brothers.

“Uh. Look at that,” Dean says, a smile tugging at his lips, and Sam decides now is as good a time as any to wrap his hand around his brother’s cock.

“Sam!” Dean hisses. “Cut it out!”

But Sam has no intention of cutting it out – in fact he’s got a plan. He keeps stroking Dean’s cock until Dean’s biting his lower lip, trying to be quiet. Small whimpering sounds still escape every once in a while, turning Sam on more than words can say, and he picks up the pace, wanting to make Dean come.

“You kissed Cas last time,” he whispers into his ear, biting it lightly when Dean shakes his head in denial. “Yes, you did – you were probably half-asleep by then, too out of it to know what you were doing. And I think he liked it.”

Dean moans and bucks against him.

“You’d better be quiet, Dean – unless you want him to hear.”

Dean makes a choked sound and comes all over his hand, and when Sam looks at Castiel again he finds wide blue eyes staring back at them. Dean realizes the same thing a couple of seconds later and goes rigid in Sam’s arms.

“Shit,” he says, trying to pull away but Sam isn’t letting him do that either, his come-stained hand clamping down on hard Dean’s shoulder – on Castiel’s mark.

Twin intakes of breath echo loudly in the sudden stillness, the three of them staring at Sam’s hand until Cas leans forward to trace Dean’s bitten lips with two fingers and Sam feels Dean shudder against him.

“I did like it,” Cas confesses, flushing, and tentatively replaces his fingers with his lips.

The kiss is clumsy and hesitant and shy until Dean gets with the program and buries a hand into Cas’s hair, pulling him closer and showing him how it’s done. Then it gets wet and open-mouthed and a little dirty, and Cas moans into it, pressing himself against Dean.

And fuck, that’s actually kind of hot, Sam thinks, flattening himself against Dean’s back until the three of them are flush together.

He pushes his erection against Dean, groaning at the feeling, and watches as one of Dean’s hand travels down from Cas’s head to his ass, gripping him tight and encouraging him to thrust against him – and shit, that’s gotta mean that Cas is hard against Dean’s hip and the thought makes Sam press himself against Dean harder, driving him into Castiel.

Cas makes a strangled noise, half-surprise half-want, and starts thrusting blindly against Dean, no finesse and all need.

“Fuck, like that,” Dean groans and reaches back to pull Sam into a kiss.

“Oh- oh!” Cas says and comes in his underwear, burying his head into Dean’s throat as he shakes and shakes.

Sam comes a few seconds later – because it is really fucking hot – and rests his forehead against Dean’s sweaty back, pressing a kiss against his shoulder and trying to catch his breath.

“We should clean up,” he says with a yawn, and shit, he can’t be tired already – he just woke up!

“In a minute,” Dean mumbles drowsily, gesturing towards Castiel who’s sprawled against him, fast asleep again.

Sam chuckles sleepily at the sight – Dean may claim he does _not_ cuddle but Sam sure knows better – and closes his eyes. It’s just for a second, he tells himself, but a second later he is out, snoring softly in Dean’s ear.

 

Soon they’ll head back out there and fight. They’ll watch each other’s back and if they’re lucky they might even get a few stolen moments like this one, reminding them why they do it. They might even find the key to end all this and get a happily-ever-after.

For now though? For now they sleep and outside the snow keeps falling, covering the world in white.


End file.
